


Returns

by TheFierceBeast



Series: City on Fire [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Banter, Blue Balls, Comfort, Fluff, Gordlock - Freeform, Gotham is for lovers, Hair, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Long Hair, M/M, Massage, Teasing, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 22:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17886230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: Jim plays with Harvey's hair. Platonically, like bros. No homo. Nope. (Bros).





	Returns

The days pass by in a blur, lately. Either so busy that Harvey ain’t got time to scratch his ass, or tense and dull as a stint in the big house. Both ways, the days are long. Each one stretches off into infinity, yet somehow months have passed in the blink of an eye: it’s like some kind of awful magic trick.

He sees Jim pretty much every day, but they’re not always together, not as much as he’d gotten used to. With resources spread thin, every senior officer is needed to take separate charge of areas of Haven, of the precinct building. It feels like a long time ago that Harvey spent a night in bed next to Jim, watching him sleep. Since he held his breath as Jim rolled over, just before dawn, and pressed against Harvey’s side. Insinuated himself into Harvey’s arms, warm and relaxed in sleep. He’d rolled away again, thank god, before he woke: that would have been an awkward one. Still, Harvey can’t get it out of his head. The memory of it. The scent of his hair, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The warmth and stillness. He’d do anything to repeat the experience. Anything. But right now, he’s having a hard time even looking Jim in the eye: it feels like to make eye contact would be to instantly give himself away.

It’s one of the slow days when Jim next catches up with him.

“Jim. How you doin’ buddy?” Harvey glances up from the cold case he’s killing time with, but doesn’t quite meet Jim’s eye.

"You keep asking me that.” Jim’s standing over him, hands braced, one hip cocked. It’s distracting. “How are _you_ holding up?"

Harvey gives in. Pushes his glasses on top of his head and gives him his full attention. "Ah, you know. I feel terrible: Business as usual."

"Is that right?"

Damn it. Damn James Gordon for making him feel better by doing pretty much nothing at all. "Why break the habit of a lifetime?"

"You've been great.” Jim says. Harvey raises his eyebrows. “Through all this.” He’s got that earnest look on his face that Harvey knows well. “You're a great cop. I probably don't tell you that enough."

He tells him quite a lot, truth be told, but Harvey still can’t keep the little smile off of his face. "Hey, don't go getting soft on me now. Save it ‘til we're outta the woods, then you can buy me - hell, a whole _box_ of doughnuts."

Jim chuckles. Claps a hand to his shoulder. "I mean it. You’ve been a great friend, Harv. I wish there was some way I could return the favour a little sooner."

Hell, Harvey can think of several ways. Jim's eyes are so earnest. So wide. The bluest freakin’ blue he's ever seen. His hair all stupid perfect even when their world's falling apart. His mouth... "Huh?"

"I said,” Jim repeats. “I could always press your shirts for you, if you like?" The quirk of that gorgeous mouth says Jim's half joking, but Harvey knows in an instant that if he accepted Jim would actually do it.

"You mean 'shirt'." He's weirdly gratified by the little wrinkle of Jim's nose that gets him, even if it's an obvious exaggeration on his part. "And, buddy, thanks, but this little label in the back that says 'no iron' ain't for decoration."

The clipped laugh at that is music to him. "If your shirts are no-iron then how come they're always so creased?"

"Talent. Pure talent." Jim laughs again, properly. Harvey's heart glows. "I got a god given knack for bringing out the worst in the best, you should know that by now."

"I don't know that I'd put it exactly that way." The way Jim is looking at him is downright fond. It's doing all kinds of dangerous things to Harvey's heart. He swallows. Takes a breath.

"There might be one thing. It's kinda dumb." Jim doesn't answer. Just looks at him expectantly. The weight of his gaze makes Harvey's skin prickle. "Nah. Doesn't matter. Forget it."

"Tell me." Jim's tone is so soft it's unexpected. A kick in the gut. Harvey swallows again. Hesitates. Jim says, quiet and calm, "Anything. Anything I can do."

 _Oh, fuck._ He could swear his eyes are starting to water. All the things that are spinning through his mind, it's enough to make a whore blush. "There's this... I mean, I used to know this one broad, and she'd do this thing..." Jim raises an eyebrow. It's so goddamn sexy and downright suggestive that Harvey can feel his mouth drop open. "Jesus, Jimbo, nothin' like that." The smirk he gets in response is barely less provocative. Harvey laughs, nervously. "It was like a massage, y’know, like this head massage." He could swear that he'd feel less dumb and self-conscious if he actually _was_ propositioning his best friend for sex.   "Just, nothin' ever made me sleep as good. Not even top shelf whisky." 

Jim's eyes are all soft, like they get. Misty. "You're not sleeping well either? I thought that sleeping was your forte?"

Harvey could kiss him, he's that grateful that's all Jim has to say to what he's just asked for. "Are any of us?"

Jim nods, decisively. "Sure. Things are pretty slow right now. Let's take a break."

"Now? Like, _right_ now?"

"It's quiet. Who knows when we'll get another night like this."

 

It's unheard of, Jim actually suggesting a break. Harvey would be flattered if he wasn't so floored. Sure, it's past 11 and the majority of the complex is sleeping. It's quiet, and they've got guards - police and civilian volunteers - posted. Even so, everyone knows that James Gordon never sleeps. 

Harvey hopes to high heaven nobody else is in the room they've been using in Haven, but when Jim pushes the door open, it's deserted, and Harvey exhales a long breath. 

He's still kinda conflicted. He showered that morning, but he’s not washed his hair since yesterday and the thought of Jim touching it – touching _him_ \- finding fault… Nah. He’s overthinking it. They’ve sat through enough stakeouts together, eating bad takeout in a car with the windows barely cracked – since when did he get so self-conscious? And besides, if he delays even a little, Jim might put the brakes on and not offer again, and Harvey is nothing if not an opportunist…

“So, how do we do this?”

“I mean, I’m used to kinda a different set-up. I…” Harvey looks helplessly around the sparse room.

“Here.” Jim pulls one of the pillows off the bed, dropping it onto the carpet at the foot of it. “Take off your jacket.”

It’s a thrill, Harvey can’t deny it, when Jim just takes charge like that. When he’s slipping off his suit jacket too, and rolling his sleeves up. Sitting on the end of the bed, feet planted either side of the pillow on the floor, his meaning clear.

Harvey’s throat feels suddenly tight. Coaxing Jim into a back rub when he’s too exhausted to object is one thing, but Jim Gordon, alert and business-like, ordering him to take off his clothes and get on the floor between his legs… Well, OK, it’s not _exactly_ like that. “Like this?” Harvey says, and he sounds almost casual. Leans cautiously back against the side of the bed and tries his damnedest not to tense up when Jim lays companionable hands on his shoulders.

“Perfect.”

Harvey closes his eyes, bites his bottom lip. He’s so glad, right now, that this position means his back is to Jim, because he doesn’t trust what would show in his eyes. Jim’s thighs, bracketing his shoulders, are warm, his legs spread to accommodate Harvey sitting between them. And lord help him, he’s all too aware that if he just turned around, his face would be level with Jim’s crotch and…

“So, do I just…”

“Ngggh…” There is nothing Harvey can humanly do to prevent the throaty groan that escapes him when Jim slides tentative fingers into his hair.

“Ohhkay then.” He sounds amused. Harvey bites his lip harder and tries not to evaporate from embarrassment, shifting his position as his stupid dick, inevitably, starts to chub up. “Tell me if I’m doing anything wrong.”

“All good so far, boss.” Fuck, he sounds _choked_. The tension in his shoulders, his neck, as he puts all of his effort into just _acting normal_ is close to snapping point. But it all starts to slip away, so that Harvey can’t even hold onto it if he tries, as Jim starts to really get going.

It’s good. Oh god, it’s good. Harvey’s always had a thing for having his hair played with – it’s one of the many reasons he prefers to keep it long – but this is something he never thought he’d experience. When Jim asked him if there was anything he could do… it was the only thing he could think to ask for that didn’t seem too overtly sexual, or too intimate. Physical affection – hell, he couldn’t exactly ask for a cuddle for Pete’s sake. Except, now, it doesn’t exactly feel lacking in intimacy…

Jim’s fingertips circle, soothing, at his temples, smoothing across his hairline in a way that makes Harvey’s eyelashes flutter. Comb back through the length, then thrust in again, drawing up through the thickness at his nape, tugging insistently, stroking and massaging their way across his scalp, unwinding all the tightness held there until Harvey’s mouth starts to tingle with the sheer intense pleasure of it. “You’ve had practice at this.”

“Not even a little.” Jim sounds beguilingly sincere.

Harvey leans back, he can’t help it. Pushes into his touch like a cat. “You must be a natural then. Ever consider a change of career?”

A little laugh. A strong hand moving lower, squeezing firm but gentle at the nape of Harvey’s neck. “I’ll bear that in mind.” His fingers find the juncture of neck and shoulder, and Harvey _moans_. Jim’s hands slow. "Does that hurt?"

That's not what prompted his sound of distress, but Harvey can't hide the wince at Jim's prodding of sore muscle, either. "I've had worse." His breath catches as Jim's fingertips slip beneath his open collar, seeking skin: the pain is the last thing he's focusing on right now, and for a heart-stopping second he's convinced Jim's gonna ask him to take his shirt off. To lie down…

"You handed your pills into the medics."

That's unexpected. Jim noticed? "How'd you know that?"

"Lucius told me. He took inventory."

"Uh huh."

"You didn't have to do that." Jim says, softly.

Harvey stares at the smooth cream paintwork of the wall ahead, his guts swirling like a tumble dryer. "I figured there's people need ‘em more than me."

"Do you still need them though?"

 _Not with your hands on me_. Harvey closes his eyes. He feels... unmoored. "I ain't been this sober for this long in years. Haven't even had a drink in weeks. Hey, maybe I'll shift a few pounds."

Jim snorts, quietly, derisively, behind him, and Harvey's heart thuds in his chest. He wants to say something. Anything. But for once, the words die on his tongue as Jim’s fingers thread rhythmically through his hair. His breathing feels too loud. Too noticeable. It’s too obvious what this is doing to him, but he can’t move. He’s too weak to move.

"Harvey... Can I ask you something? Something personal?"  
_Oh god_. Harvey frowns, helpless, his heartrate racing. This is it. He's been sprung. Jim knows he's dead gone for him and he's going to do the awkward let-down and it's gonna be excruciating and... "Sure." It's just one word. Casual, like. Harvey closes his eyes and prays for mercy.

Jim's hands are careful, carding through double handfuls of hair. "Do you dye this?"

" _What_?" Harvey cracks one eye open. "No!" 

Fingertips circle against his scalp. Jim says, "How old are you again?"

"45."

"Mmhmm." He sounds like he's stifling laughter. Harvey's heart squeezes. He wishes he could turn and see his face, but that might mean Jim moving his hands. He settles for mock-outrage. 

"What's 'mm-hmm' meant to mean?"

"Nothing." That faux innocent tone will be the death of him. Any kind of levity from Jim is hard-won, especially these days, and god this feels fragile. Magic. Harvey wants to keep it going as long as it can. Wants this moment to last a lifetime.

"I'll have you know I come from good Irish stock. Not a one of us see a grey hair before 55."

"So, next year, then?"

He can't stop his smile any longer. Leans back into the warmth of Jim's touch and wonders when he'll wake up from this dream. "Thin ice, pal, I'm warning you."

Behind him, Jim chuckles. "It's nice though." _What? The merry hell?_ "Thick. You're lucky."

Harvey feels his cheeks flame. In what universe does Jim Gordon give him compliments on his appearance? While he's... Oh, Jesus, touching him... He's so glad of the poor lighting and that Jim is behind him right now. "Well, it matches the rest of me, know what I'm sayin'?" _Shit! No - Fat joke, not dick brag... Though, ain't that the sort of thing he'd say to any of the guys? Of course it is. If anything, he's going too easy on the innuendo. Relax, Bullock. You're doing fine._ Jim just laughs. And that's one of his favourite sounds in the world, better than Brian Robertson licks, better than the purr of a Knucklehead’s engine. "Yeah, I can see that."

 _Oh… That's… I'm..._ A cold rush of adrenalin courses through him, as his cheeks heat up, but thankfully he manages to bite back any reflexive babble in favour of clearing his throat quietly. Of shifting guiltily, as if that'll hide the obvious boner tenting his slacks that Jim is surely, certainly referring to. Jim’s not moving his hands though. Not pushing him away in disgust. His fingers are still weaving through Harvey's hair, unspeakably tender, and it's maddening. This imbalance of power, Jim holding all the cards. It feels like he knows all Harvey's dirty little secrets when his own are hidden just out sight. Maybe he's hard too. Maybe he's getting off on this. Harvey leans back into his touch. The warmth of Jim's thighs either side of him makes him feel short of breath. The scent of him, almost imperceptible but still noticeably there, the faintest breath of the soap he uses, the smell of clean laundry. He's so close, but a million miles away. What would he do if Harvey just turned around? Knelt between his spread legs, pushed his knees wider apart and pushed his tongue into Jim's mouth, groped a hand between his thighs..? It would be so easy. And the most difficult thing in the world. Because it's not sex you want, is it, Bullock? Not this time, not just that. There's something about Jim that just makes Harvey want to roll over and submit. Surrender control. Surrender everything; his body, his dignity. His life. To give it all. To Jim.

"Is that good?"

"So good." He's so lost to thought that he answers Jim's quiet question without filtering it. "You got magic hands."

"I wish my exes thought so."

"They're morons.” _In for a penny…_ “They didn't know what they had."

"Thanks, Harv.” A pat to his shoulder, lingering. “You're a pal. I should braid your hair more often."

"You may mock. I look stunning with a classy up-do."

"Uh-huh?" And then both hands slide, surely, through the thickness of hair at the nape of Harvey’s neck, gathering the length in two sound handfuls that has shivers skating, delicious, right up his back. And then Jim _tugs_ , firmly, and Harvey can't stop the way his mouth drops open, panting, can’t stop the lustful little noise that he makes. Fingertips push against the crown of his head, like Jim is arranging, piling the mass of his hair forward. He moves his hands, encouraging Harvey to turn, and there's nothing Harvey can do but comply. To brace a hand against Jim's knee - he has to, for balance, and if it strays a little higher, if his thumb grazes the firm curve of Jim's inner thigh, he can't help it - the angle is awkward. And then he's gazing, dazed, his lips parted in shock, up into Jim's face. Jim's hands cradling his head, holding handfuls of his hair up in place, Jim's eyes so wide and blue as he flashes him that beautiful, off-kilter grin and for a second Harvey thinks he really might kiss him. "Oh yeah. It suits you."

"Got any bobby pins?" Harvey asks, weakly. His voice is giving him away. It has to be. At this stage there's no way Jim can be so dense to not have noticed. He must have. He must be toying with him, and damn it Gordon, I'm already on my knees, just do it, push my head down, fill my mouth, you know I'll oblige...

“Afraid I’m out. I must have left them with my curling tongs.”

Harvey laughs for real at that: the sudden mental image of James Gordon with a headful of cherubic curls is too funny not to.

Jim smiles. Flips his handfuls of hair over, so they fall in Harvey’s face and Harvey can only imagine what a disaster he must look. _Same as usual, then._ “Feel any better?”

“Kinda.” Harvey says, honestly, pushing the hair back out of his eyes. He’s still aching, still anxious, and now he’s stuck with a stiffy that won’t quit. But he’s had Jim’s hands upon him in affection, and now Jim’s looking down at him, all caring-like.

“Are you tired?”

“Eh.” Harvey shrugs, rubs the back of his neck, diffidently, willing Jim to turn away so he can stand without any more awkwardness than necessary.

“It’s your turn to sleep.” Jim says.

“I guess I could go a nap.”

“Good.” Jim places his hands on Harvey’s shoulders. Leans forward and kisses his forehead, and then stands and walks.

Harvey’s still kneeling there, dumbstruck, as he hears the door open and shut again. Stays there, his head reeling.

After a few more minutes, the hush echoing, his knees begin to really give him grief, and he has to stand up, leaning on the bed for support. Figures he may as well take that nap, now he’s here. Now he has a little problem to deal with: opportunist, after all.

Later, when he struggles awake and checks his watch, its morning. He’s slept the whole night. The spot on his forehead where Jim’s lips touched still tingles: he’s probably imagining it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true. Especially after a night stalked by dreams of taking Jim in his arms, into his bed. Of kissing him for real, taking him apart slowly until they’re both shivering with it. Harvey rubs his eyes and drags the covers back, swinging unsteady feet to the carpet and casting around for his discarded clothes.

They’re there, on the couch. Folded neatly. When he holds his shirt up, it’s newly laundered. Freshly pressed. Harvey shakes his head, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wrangling with ideas for this and wondering whether to stick to canon after the Haven bombing, and then after the Barbara thing, then after the baby thing, and now after the Lee thing I’ve basically just flipped the table and I’m probably just gonna disregard all of Jim’s hetero disasters and go completely canon divergent AU because keeping up with his catastrophic canon lovelife is not what my headcanon Harvey deserves. #MakeHarvHappy2K19
> 
> Thank you as always to anyone reading my self indulgent and possibly OOC ramblings, especially the commenters, you guys make my life better and I am super grateful to you x


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